Nick ignored the generous promise. “The affection of man for man is a wonderful thing, Crawford,” he said quietly. “I’m glad to have known you and had this proof of what loyalty means. I must go now, though. Try to have patience and take things as quietly as you can. I’ll do my best for Stone, and telephone you from time to time.”
As he returned to the station, the detective felt sure that his promise to Winthrop Crawford would greatly hamper his movements but he shrugged his shoulders philosophically.
“Follansbee is a lucky rascal, and a keen one,” he thought. “He has remained in the background, and even that telltale conversation I overheard last night doesn’t seem destined to be used as a weapon against him. He’s certainly stolen a base or two, but he may yet be called out at the home plate!”
The journey to and from the suburban hotel had occupied considerable time, and it was almost one o’clock before the detective returned to the Windermere.
The clerk saw him enter the lobby and called him to the desk. He was informed of the telephone message and of Patsy’s call at the hotel. He realized, of course, that one of his assistants had been trying to get in touch with him, but he did not know that it was in connection with that particular case.
Moreover, something came up which made it necessary for him to disregard Patsy’s injunction to remain in until he could be reached.
“Mr. Crawford hasn’t come back yet, Mr. Mortimer?” the clerk asked. “The gentleman seemed to know him, too.”
The detective had turned away from the desk, but he faced about and shook his head.
“I’m afraid that Crawford will not be back for some time,” he replied. “He was taken very ill while we were out together, and I had to remove him to a hospital. I’m not quite sure what’s the matter with him. I’m afraid, though, that it’s some sort of fever which he may have contracted in South America.”
The hotel clerk looked startled. “It’s nothing very serious, I hope?” he said.
“I trust not,” was the reply. “The hospital people feel sure that it isn’t contagious, if that’s what you mean.”
Again he started to leave the desk, but the clerk once more detained him. “A messenger came from the Standard National Bank about half an hour ago,” the young man explained. “He asked for either Mr. Stone or Mr. Crawford, and said it was very important. Mr. Stone was in his room in the small hours of the morning, I understand, but he isn’t there now, and nobody seems to have seen him about the building this morning.”